Band of Brothers and Sisters: Detlef Palm

by Detlef Palm, Programme Coordinator, OLS Southern Sector, 1988-1993

When Audrey Hepburn returned from her visit to Sudan in early 1989, she addressed the UNICEF Executive Board. She referred to the manmade tragedies, for which there is only one manmade solution: peace…. She continued: Even if this mammoth Operation Lifeline Sudan were only to achieve half of its goal, due to the countless odds its up against in a vast country with no infrastructure, few roads to speak of, no communication system, it will have succeeded …. together with … the brave tireless NGOs, pilots, truckdrivers, loaders and operation officers…

It was one thing to negotiate the idea, building on the botched Operation Rainbow, talking to warring factions and the ICRC, capturing the moment when donor attention and media attention came together, and working behind the scenes to prepare the ground; Jim Grant gave it the final push in his inimitable style. 

It was another thing to make it work. Inside South Sudan, in the areas held by the SPLA, Operation Lifeline Sudan was a ragtag army of characters, young and old, determined to give their share for a better world, living for years in tents or in tin roof shacks, working for a pittance, without running water, and rarely light from a generator. 

There were several hundred of them, working for several dozens of non-governmental organizations, or freelancing, or as consultants for UNICEF, WFP or another UN agency, calling in from their locations on the radio every morning and every evening. Everyone knew each other, there was no rank and file, and everyone respected each other if only for being there. There were no smartphones and no news, and at night, there was only the buzz of the mosquitoes and the comforting thought that one was not alone.

The OLS office in Nasir

Indisputably the oldest was John, an Australian retiree, who led convoys for WFP, reliably maintained field posts and cheered up the colleagues half his age. Adrian, who travelled to places where few of us went, to singlehandedly vaccinate four million cattle against the deadly Rinderpest. Willy and Bruce, who fixed whatever broken water systems they could make out. Emma, in her miniskirt, who started the education programme and – after separating from OLS - married a warlord. Patta, the industrious field monitor who got the science into assessments and reporting. Best agers Tom and Sheila from the Isle of Man who travelled as a couple to distribute fishing twine and fishing hooks along the rivers. Bernadette, the ever cheerful Indian Lady Doctor, who on her rare visits to Nairobi stayed with us and read stories of Indian Princesses to our children. Tibebu in Bor and Humphrey in Torit and sunny Ruth travelling about; the scores of WFP food monitors, who fought their battles with intransigent local commanders; and the hundreds of workers whose name I never heard or can remember; everyone was flexible to go wherever the need was the greatest. The FAO expert who selected the seeds and tools to start growing food again. Bob in the Lokichogio forward base that promised a good hot meal and a shower from the bucket. The Ethiopian social worker, who accompanied the unaccompanied minors and started the first reunification programme. The anthropologists who wanted to see tribes before they disappeared for good.

John White renovating an office building

 Food was distributed, children were vaccinated and children were fed, the sick were treated, classes were held, fish was caught and seeds planted. There were the good days, where everything worked as it should; and the bad days, where the misery and destitution were overwhelming and people and children were dying in front of our eyes. Everyone contributed what they knew best, and everyone was a hero.

Our first two pilots were Kenyan women. Planes got sucked into the mud, or came back with bullet holes in their tale wings. There were Vietnam veterans, dropping food over Nasir, and Sileshi from Ethiopia, who clocked most flying hours of all. In the heydays, eighteen planes were each flying several sorties every day, and Lokichogio became one of the busiest airport in Africa. The planes, cars and the boats were for everyone who needed them to help.

Everyone signed and observed the code of conduct that the band of brothers and sisters had set for themselves. It kept the gun runners away; though the NGO colleagues that were abandoned by their own headquarters were welcomed into the fold.

Murle families waiting to be vaccinated

They dodged bombs dropped by the government Antonovs, dealt with drug-crazed wannabe rebel chiefs, and side-stepped raids by the tribal cattle rustlers. There was no Department of Humanitarian Affairs, nor was it anywhere to be seen; there was no OCHA and we were good enough to coordinate ourselves. The first security specialist showed up two years into OLS, advising us to carry a plastic Ziploc bag to collect snails who empty themselves within a day, in case we run out of food. Everybody and the staff of UN agencies delivered as one, without orders from above, even though one would not always know in the field who was working for whom. There were adventurers, and desperados, humanitarians and Christians and Buddhists, and the wretchedness of the Sudanese was the glue that kept everyone together.

They did not want to philosophize but be agents of peace, and they did create an aura of goodwill and hope. Everyone knew that they would not win this fight, for humanity and against selfishness and aggression, but most kept going longer than they thought. During those first years, nobody returned from the field as a person that he or she was when first setting foot into South Sudan.

Stuck in South Sudan

Four of the incredible band paid the ultimate price, when their bubble of tranquillity crossed the path of some warring factions; they were murdered in September 1992. Myint Maung, a UNICEF professional from Burma; Francis Ngure, a Kenyan UNICEF driver; Vilma Gomez, an NGO nurse from the Philippines; and Tron Helge Hummelvoll, a Norwegian journalist. Four professions, four aspirations, four nations, four families, four histories. They represented the microcosms of the band of brother and sisters, trying to protect the hapless Sudanese children from what Audrey Hepburn called the four deadly, manmade threats: government troops, rebels, bandits, and famine.

The term ‘Band of Brothers’ first appears in the St Crispin's Day Speech, Henry V, by William Shakespeare